


After the Flood

by jesuschristpizzalord



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, exR - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Retail, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3805219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuschristpizzalord/pseuds/jesuschristpizzalord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is good at his shitty, underpaying retail job. He works enough to give the illusion of working hard, he gets along with his bosses, and he generally has found his place in the wonderful world of big box stores. And then he's forced into a small room with a perfectly chiseled statue of a man, and he's never felt more out of place in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe trigger warning for the first few sentences? Just to make sure- mention of razor blades.

Being waterboarded. Having a razor-sharp claw scrape gently across the scalp. Being punched in the stomach repeatedly by The Incredible Hulk. Death’s sweet release. All of these things describe what Grantaire would rather be doing than walking into his place of employment to begin yet another shift at 9 on a Sunday morning. Big box stores never cease to produce the classiest of people to deal with for eight hours a day. For instance, just the day before, Grantaire had witnessed a fully grown woman allow her toddler dump popcorn all over the carpet, then wheel her shopping cart right through it without bothering to notify someone who could clean it up. He could do nothing but stare in awe for a few seconds before grudgingly walking to the service desk for a vacuum. 

He’s lucky enough to work for one of the less shitty big box stores. They allow body modifications of mostly all sorts- he has yet to see someone with a giant spike through their forehead, but he suspects that it has to be approaching some sort of line. He has many tattooed people on his team, and a few with facial piercings and even blue hair. The company is so desperate to give off the vibe of total diversity that they pretty much encourage these decorations in the employee handbook. 

But Grantaire doesn’t have blue hair. His brown hair is a curly mess, but in a tame way. It makes him look like a fresh out of high school young adult, and not a shady character who will follow you around the store muttering under his breath in an indistinguishable language. He does have his septum pierced, though; a drunken antic he got into with his cousin one night shortly following the end of his Junior year. He looks like he could possibly have a five o’clock shadow most of the time, though he has trouble growing facial hair better than a few patches here and there. 

When you get hired on as a sales floor Team Member at Quarry, they train you in a few different areas. You will always get trained as a cashier, as it can get busy very quickly and back-up cashiers are often called upon. You will then typically get trained in the two main areas of the sales floor, hardlines and softlines. Softlines are everything clothing related, and hardlines are everything else that isn’t the grocery portion or the electronics section. It takes the average Quarry Team Member about three months to find a niche in the sales floor. For Grantaire, that happened to be softlines. He was the only person hired in July who was able to pick up an area of the clothing section and make it look nice in under two hours. His Team Leads think he is a hard worker with a sense of urgency. He just came to find that the faster you work, the more they leave you alone. 

He doesn’t bother to tell his Team Leads when he gets to work anymore. As of late, they have been keeping him running the fitting room. Because of this, it is fairly obvious when he is or isn’t there; the fitting room attendant answers the store’s phone calls on top of organizing and putting out the clothing. When the phone rings more than three times, it becomes apparent that nobody is going to answer it, and that’s when they start to panic. But Grantaire welcomes the distraction of a 30 second phone call, so he always answers on the first ring. That’s how they know he has arrived to his work station on time, as he is the only person who can manage to do so. 

Today is no different. He punches in at the time clock located in the front of the store, where the Team Lead offices, lockers, and break room are. He grabs a walkie talkie and a PDA, then paces down to the back corner of the store, to his own personal level of Hell. Just as he gets to his desk, the phone rings throughout the store. It’s a soft dinging sound, so the fitting room attendant has the freedom to move about the store as needed while still being able to answer the phone. He picks it up and dials the extension quickly, so it will pick up before the second ring. He really wants that $0.15 raise next month. “Thank you for calling Quarry 237, can I help you find something?”

“Yes you can! I’m looking for-“

He’s trained his brain to go into autopilot when it comes to guest phone calls. He dares to say that he has it down to a science. He can tell a guest within ten seconds if the item they want is in the store, given a search on his PDA. It usually isn’t, but even if he knows for a fact they don’t have it, he can’t tell the guest that without making them think he looked for it. He’s been asked too many times condescendingly, “Did you even look?!” 

And sometimes, like now, the guest will give you their life story, and every decision they’ve ever made that leads them up to needing this item. “-as I told the man in Wallman’s, and he said that I needed a bigger size. But I went home and measured the window again, and the tape measure said 64”, but the 64” curtains weren’t working. So I went back to Wallman’s-“

Luckily for him, Sunday mornings aren’t busy phone-wise. Tons of people love to try on clothes on Sunday mornings, for some reason, but the phone is usually relatively dead until about noon. He sits at his desk, doodling on a piece of scrap paper as he waits for the novel on the other side to come to a close. “-so I think it you have a 68”, that should work. What do you think?”

He tries his very hardest, and succeeds, to not reply with, “I have 68” of something for you, lady.” Instead, he replies to her with as much fake niceness as he can muster up. “I agree. I think the extra two inches on either side would fix the problem you’re having.”

“Great!” she replies. “I’ll go back to Wallman’s and look for them, then. Thank you very much, young man!” 

She reminds him of the offensive stereotype of a Jewish mother you find in sitcoms, the way she articulates her words. He hangs up the phone, bewildered that she would call Wallman’s main competition to get an opinion on curtains to just go back to Wallman’s for the item. What a waste of three minutes. He scopes out the area surrounding him, making sure no Team Leads were around, before pulling out his iPhone and posting on Facebook, “Free reach around to the first person who brings a large caramel swirl iced coffee to the fitting room in Quarry on Plum and Oak.”

Though he can’t count the reasons why his job sucks on both hands and feet, there are very few perks to the fitting room job. He gets a desk and a tiny closet to work in, which allows him to escape for brief periods of time from the masses. Because of this, he can get away with playing music quietly from his phone. He never received explicit permission to do so, but about five Team Leads have walked into the closet with his music on and haven’t said anything about it. He can also tuck away drinks in various places in the closet and on his desk, which are otherwise forbidden on the sales floor. These things combined with a pretty kick-ass softlines team make working here just bearable enough. 

Whoever closed the fitting room last night left him two shopping carts of clothes to sort, which usually shouldn’t be the case. It doesn’t bother him much, though, because it gives him a mindless task to focus on. He likes being alone with his thoughts when he’s sober. He quickly goes through the copy of today’s schedule left on his desk, to plan his breaks and see who he gets to work with in softlines. Joly is coming in at 10, hopefully to start putting away the surplus of leftover clothes in the closet. He and Grantaire have a good time working together. Joly can be a bit slow in his work, though, because he is always getting into the most elaborate conversations with the guests at the store. Grantaire makes the executive decision to put all of the ladies’ undergarments in a shopping cart for Joly to work out, since he often avoids making eye contact with anyone in that section of the store, and therefore should be able to finish it relatively quickly. It isn’t that Joly is particularly shy to be there; he has received complaints before that his enthusiasm with the guests there have made a few uncomfortable. That’s the sexism of working with the general public, though. 

Grantaire quickly puts together Joly’s panty party, then turns his attention to the sort carts. 

 

 

“Raincheck for that reach around,” Joly says, placing a large iced coffee on his desk. 

Grantaire smiles at him. “Thanks. How’d you sneak it back here?”

“Don’t ask questions,” Joly fires back, smirking in the process. “How much do you want to bet I’m doing some put-back today?”

“You better be,” Grantaire says, switching out the “L” tab on the current hanger in his hand to an “M”. “I’m being eaten alive back here.”

He clears a spot on the floor to hide his coffee while Joly contacts the CTL (a fancy way to say the active manager at the time). This morning, until about noon, it’s Patrick. “Joly!” his voice blares over the walkie. For one of the least liked TLs in the store, he sure is positive and perky. “If you could just work on clearing the fitting room today, that would be awesome.”

“Sure,” Joly says, looking at the ground defeated. The softlines team is made of ten people. Nine of them hate put-back with a passion. Grantaire is apathetic.

Joly is an interesting character. He does a lot of things that Grantaire thinks is for show, half the time. Other times, like today, he truly believes being a quirky person is just in his genetic code. His red shirt has been cut up both sides, had slits made in each side, then tied. The abundance of fringe used to turn the heads of his coworkers, but by now, it’s been normalized. He is also a fan of hair chalk. Today’s streak through his ginger-ish hair is lime green. He and Grantaire aren’t very good friends; that is to say, if Joly was to call him at four AM for a ride somewhere, he would receive some choice words and a threat or two. But Grantaire has a definite soft spot for him, and not just because he reads his Facebook statuses about exchanging coffee for sexual favors. He truly sees the beauty in Joly’s actions and being, and it breaks his heart every time he hears sly remarks about his uniqueness. 

 “What needs to be done first?”

“There’s a cart of underwear with your name all over it by the desk, dude,” he replies. 

“Ughhhhh.”

Grantaire shrugs. “I wish I was sorry.”

"Can I just go in?”

Grantaire’s soul dies a little bit more every time someone asks him this. There is a giant red sign on the front of the desk that explicitly states how many items you’re allowed to bring into the fitting room, and that you need to check in with the attendant. This is yet another thing he needs to try to ignore, though he swears if he had a dollar for every time he’s heard it, he wouldn’t need a shitty retail job in the first place. 

“The limit is six,” he says, counting the amount of items she’s brought back. “You can leave four out here and exchange them when you’re done.”

“Fine,” she says, a little more edgily than he’d have liked. 

He almost flips her off as she turns her back to him, but the reminder that security cameras are planted all over the store keeps him from doing so. There are very few things you can do to get fired from Quarry, but having something like that on your record isn’t very helpful. And ever since he found out that the higher level TLs like to watch the security cameras for their team members’ behaviors, he likes to keep those cathartic moments to a minimum. 

Ding.

He pulls the portable phone out of his back pocket as he returns to the closet. He prefers multi-tasking instead of sitting at the desk and wasting minutes at a time. “Thank you for calling Quarry 237, can I help you find something?”

“Transfer me to customer service.”

 _Please_ , Grantaire finishes in his head, before typing the extension to put the call on an empty line. He takes his walkie from his other back pocket and says, “Guest service?”

It takes about thirty seconds for someone to reply, “Go ahead for guest service.”

“Call for you on 2280.”

“Thank you.”

It’s the dude today. He doesn’t remember his name, it’s something out of the ordinary, like his own. He’s well-liked through the store, though. He’s serious a lot, but has a sense of humor and a rapport with nearly every employee at the store. He’s taller than Grantaire is, about 5’9. It isn’t hard to be taller than Grantaire, though, who stands at 5’5. 

He’s never had a reason to ask, but if he could guess, mystery guest service man is relatively close to his age. He’s young, energetic, and sure, maybe he’s attractive. There’s about five people that Grantaire finds attractive at work, though, or at least just aesthetically pleasing. 

And it isn’t that Grantaire is creepy enough to listen for his voice on the other line. It’s a relatively small store, and the turnover is incredibly low for people leaving. You learn peoples’ voices within a week of them starting, if you pay an ounce of attention. It’s at this point that Grantaire realizes he’s spent the past few minutes standing idly in the middle of the closet, thinking about Mystery Man. He wonders how that happened. 

 

 

The hour between Joly arriving at work and Grantaire being able to take his break seems like a lifetime. He gets the two carts sorted relatively quickly, cleans the rooms, straightens up the clothing racks around him, and promptly runs out of productive things to do. He could find an excuse to walk up to Guest Services, it would be a welcome distraction to have a short field trip. Just as he checks his pockets for his walkie and the portable phone so he could leave his desk, a group of people walks up. It’s the typical mother shopping with her seven children, each with 15 items of clothing to try on. Grantaire- and every fitting room attendant for that matter- hates these groups with a passion. They’re always super slow, super loud, and they always manage to wait until they're right in front of the desk to divvy up their selections from the mountain in their cart. 

He makes sure to enforce the rules of six items at a time, and one person over the age of nine to a fitting room. He has his moments of rule bending and being chill, but these groups earn none of his pity. Even as it earns him dirty looks from the mother sitting outside of the rooms, he is content knowing he is making their life as inconvenient as they are making his. He can’t help it. They're going to try on 15 items each, want none of them, and leave them in a pile on the floor in seven different fitting room stalls. 

When the prophecy reveals itself to be true, it at least gives him something to do for a good half an hour. When 11 o’clock finally rolls around, he tracks down Joly and says, “Cover me?”

“I got you, boo,” Joly replies, sticking the phone in his back pocket. 

Grantaire grins at him, before getting on his walkie and saying, “CTL Patrick, I’m going to take my break. Joly has the phone.”

“Sounds good, enjoy yo-“ 

He turns his walkie off before Patrick can finish his sentence. Break time means earbuds in, work world out. There are no snacks in the break room today, but there is Mystery Guest Service Man. Before Grantaire can put his earphones in, he engages him in conversation. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Grantaire replies. His stomach surges with acid. Is there a way someone could tell that someone else was thinking about them extensively a short time ago?

MGSM has a zit on his left temple today. Grantaire wonders if there’s anything particularly stressful in his life that would cause it, or if he was cursed with a faulty, zit-bearing genetic code. It’s almost not visible through his blonde hair which is shorter at the sides and longer on top, and leans slightly to the left. Through these observations, Grantaire misses what he says to him. “Uh… I’m sorry?”

He chuckles. “How’s your Sunday going?”

“It’s definitely going,” Grantaire says, immediately regretting every decision in his entire 19 years of life that led up to this moment. “How’s yours?”

“I got to hear the intimate details of a woman’s inability to produce milk for her newborn naturally, which was the reason why she had to return the pump she got for her baby shower.”

“Yikes,” Grantaire says. So fitting room isn’t the only workstation that sucks here. Desperate to relate to him, he offers, “I’ve had women hand me back bras they’ve tried on with mystery liquid on them. I hope for the best, but I know what it most likely is.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’d say you win.”

“Then coming to work was worth it today,” Grantaire replies, then finally finds it within himself to take a seat. 

He manages to take a peek at his name tag, to solve the mystery once and for all. Enjolras. En-jol-ras. En as in entitled, or encore? Is it a hard J sound, or a Y-sounding J? Is the S silent for some reason? This doesn’t help Grantaire at all. If anything, it makes him feel hopeless of ever identifying this man properly. But his panic is short-lived, as he hears a voice on Enjolras’ walkie say, “Enjolras, are you back from break yet?”

“Coming,” he replies, standing up. “See you around.”

“You too,” Grantaire says, not knowing what he’s talking about anymore. 

Grantaire has ten minutes left in his fifteen minute break, so he finally can put his music in and try to relax for once in his morning. 

 

 

Grantaire remembers at the end of his lunch break that the next week’s schedule is posted. He grabs his phone to take a picture of it, which is the only way he can be bothered to document it. He has four shifts total next week, which is generous considering the lack of available hours this time of year. 

He has two fitting room shifts in this time- Sunday morning, 9 to 5, and Tuesday evening, 5 PM to 11. He notices two things as he skims the schedule: the first being Enjolras’ name, which is five lines above his. He also notices that Enjolras is schedule to be fitting room trained, Sunday morning and Tuesday night. Grantaire has never felt his heart stop beating so quickly before in his life.

“Hey, Grantaire,” his direct boss, Jenn, says behind him. 

He turns to face her and says, “Hey. Am I training someone next week?”

She nods. “Yeah, one of the Guest Service team members asked to be cross-trained in sales floor. You have him for fitting room, Cosette has him for softlines, and Eponine has him for hardlines.”

“Cool,” he replies, trying to sound as calm as possible. He still can’t pin down why, but something about the thought of him being crammed into the closet with Enjolras, talking about proper hanger techniques, both excites him and scares him shitless. Only one week to find out which emotion will win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras spend time together in the closet. Enjolras is an open book. Grantaire is a word document that refuses to auto-save.

The time on Grantaire’s watch reads 8:55. He’s biking as fast as he can down the last stretch of road until he hits the parking lot of Quarry, about a quarter of a mile away. It has been literally the slowest week of his life, and the morning has finally arrived where he gets to train Golden Boy in the fitting room. He’s been practicing in the mirror all week. Training people in general spikes his anxiety a bit, let alone training people who make him nervous for no discernible reason. 

When he rolls up to the building, he quickly locks his bike to the railing by the door, and hurries in to clock in. He makes it at 9:00:04. He regains his breath as best as he can before grabbing his equipment. When he was out on the floor, he took his walkie and said, “Uh, Enjolras?”

Almost immediately, his voice appears on the walkie. “Go ahead for Enjolras.”

“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?”

Well at least he gets to embarrass himself in front of the entire store this time. He feels his cheeks flush as he hears, “I’m back in the fitting room.”

He picks up his pace a little, finally reaching his little corner of the store. Enjolras is standing in front of the desk, scoping the men’s clothing department directly in front of the fitting room. “Good morning,” Grantaire says. “Sorry.”

Enjolras chuckles. “For what?”

“Just… sorry,” he says. “I hate training people. If I tell someone something wrong, and it gets back to a TL, I think I would have a heart attack. I just can’t afford to lose this job right now.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Enjolras says, joining Grantaire behind the desk. “So… what’s first?”

They're standing really close together. Grantaire can smell the indistinguishable body spray on him. It’s subtle, kind of coffee-ish. He can’t quite place it, but he feels like he’s smelled it before. He also notices that his shirt is purple, not a burgundy like you perceive from afar. Quarry’s dress code is a red top with khaki pants, but it isn’t strict. You can get away with any combination of dark and light shades of both, as long as they’re in the color scheme. Enjolras strayed a bit from that today. Why does that pique his interest? “Grantaire?”

“Right,” Grantaire says, snapping out of his trance. “First. Well. First thing you do in the morning is assess the situation. But before we get into the actual job, let me give you a rundown of the job as a whole.”

“Sounds good,” he says, turning to lean against the desk, facing Grantaire head-on. His arms come up to cross loosely across his chest, his hands resting under either arm. 

“So,” Grantaire begins, swallowing hard. He doesn’t stand a chance. “The fitting room is one of the biggest hubs for shop lifting in the store. The most important part of the job is monitoring who goes in, and with how many items. We limit them to six, and we have to count them before they go in. If you’re waving people in left and right, not paying attention, there’s the potential for huge amounts of loss. People have literally worn shit out before because someone back here wasn’t paying attention.”

Enjolras nods curtly. “I’m good at paying attention.

_I can tell_ , Grantaire thinks. “Good. Other than that, we are the keepers of the clothes. We get carts from guest service to sort, but you know about the carts, you put them together for us. Since a lot of them are returns, we have to put tags back on them. We answer the phones, and make phone calls to other Quarry’s in the area if a guest needs us to. We also check the individual fitting rooms once an hour for leftover clothes and hidden tags. That’s all we focus on in the day. At night it’s a little different, but we’ll go through that on Tuesday.”

Enjolras nods again. Having his approval is nice for Grantaire. It assures him that he isn’t just a rambling idiot. “Sounds easy enough.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Grantaire says. ‘Wait until someone is yelling at you on the phone for keeping them on hold for two minutes. Or someone on the phone yells at you because Musichetta at guest service hung up on her when she didn’t like her attitude.”

Enjolras laughs a bit. “Yeah, she puts up with very little. And I’m used to getting yelled at, people yell at us to our faces all the time.”

“True,” he says. “Okay, let’s sort.”

He takes Enjolras back into the closet and explains the sorting system. He runs through the hangers, which direction the clothes go on them, how to change the size tabs, where to put them on the rack, everything. Enjolras listens, nods occasionally. He seems very invested in learning how to put clothes away. Grantaire never knew it was possible to be that into it. 

Once everything is explained, and Grantaire shows him how to use the phone with the different lines, they begin to sort together. It’s agony. It’s quiet, and awkward. Two strangers in a 6’ by 4’ room, hastily putting clothing onto hangers. Grantaire is desperate to break the silence. He surveys Enjolras a bit from the side, before finding his angle. It comes in the form of dozens of colorful strings lining Enjolras’ arms. “So… have a lot of cats?”

Enjolras frowns. “Huh?”

“The string…”

It takes a few seconds for Enjolras to realize what he’s referring to. When he does, he laughs. “No, no. These are charity bracelets. There’s a company that sells hundreds of them, each supporting a cause. They donate half of the cost of each bracelet to a charity fighting for that cause.”

“Wow,” Grantaire say. “So you’ve donated hundreds of dollars by now.”

Enjolras smirks. “Not quite there yet. I am addicted to it, though. I love their design, and I love that I can help people and animals in need somehow.”

“What do yours represent?”

Enjolras hangs up the ladies’ shirt and holds up his left arm, beginning to run down of rainbow string. “This one supports the Human Rights Campaign, this is Finished with Finning to end shark finning in Japan, this is the Pro-Choice Coalition, this one is the Bicycle Association of Northern Washington, this is Greening the World.” He pauses to switch arms. “This one is my favorite, it represents Building Business Together, a charity focused on helping single mothers in the third world become entrepreneurs to support their families. Then we have Green Peace, Racing Extinction, Feed the Children USA (he has several of these), Clean Water for Nepal, and Fair Trade Farmers United.”

“Wow,” is all Grantaire can say, realizing he’s beginning to sound like a parrot. “That’s…. so, you’re one of those people?”

Boy does that come out wrong. Enjolras frowns. “What people?”

“Not like, _those_ people like it’s a bad thing or anything…” he says. “I just… I’ve never met someone so up for the cause.”

“Ah,” Enjolras says. “Well, someone has to care.”

Grantaire tries to think of anything to say to get back in his good graces. “Everyone has to care.”

This only earns him a raised eyebrow. Enjolras can see through his veiled attempt at peace. This is just magnificent. Only seven and a half more hours of this. When Enjolras remains silent, Grantaire offers, “You know, I see every Disneynature documentary on opening week to donate a portion of my ticket sale to their conservation fund.”

This earns a bit of a smile from Enjolras, probably more of a chuckle. “Good. Last year’s enabled 44,000 trees to be planted in an endangered rainforest in Brazil.”

“And at least on of those was mine,” Grantaire says.

Again with the chuckle. The chuckle to end his life. “Don’t pat yourself too hard on the back.”

And then, more silence. Grantaire is glad he got him to open up even a little bit about his life. The causes people proudly support say a lot about them. It shows you where they invest their personal resources, what they find important, how they want to impact the world. Grantaire wishes he had a least one cause to care about. He wishes he had the luxury. “So,” he says again. “You seem like the kind of person who is against big corporations, and capitalism, and big business. Why did you choose to work at Quarry? It’s the second largest retailer in the country, after all.”

“It is,” Enjolras says. “And you’re right, I don’t like the economic system we currently live in. But here’s the thing: I don’t hate Quarry, despite its size. I was born into several privileges, being an able-bodied white male in a first world country. However, I was not born a Rockefeller, so I have to work to make a living. Unfortunately, we live in a small business wasteland, so the only options for me were big corporations.”

“So you sold your soul and your morals to Obama,” Grantaire says.

“Not entirely,” Enjolras says, a glimmer of amusement present in his eyes. He fumbles with the size tab in his hands for a few seconds before continuing. “The only two companies in the area that were hiring were Wallman’s and Quarry. So, I read each company’s CSR report, and came to find that despite its role as a retail giant, Quarry is remarkable for CSR.”

“CSR?”

“Corporate social responsibility,” he says. “Big corporations tend to put out CSR reports, to make themselves look appealing to their clients and potential investors. They report everything from workplace diversity, to carbon emissions per year, to charitable donations made in their community. Wallman’s is the largest retailer in the entire world, and its CSR report is shotty at best. SeaWorld doesn’t even put one out. They have a page on their website saying how CSR is important to their company values, and that’s all they say on the matter.”

Grantaire has this point. He actually agrees with him on something. Every deity in the universe is finally smiling on him at the same time. “Well, SeaWorld is a bag of dicks, you can’t be surprised.”

Enjolras laughed. “Don’t get me started. Anyway, Quarry’s CSR report is excellent. They have a vision for carbon neutrality by 2030, the ratio of women to men in superior administrative positions is almost 1, which implies a high equality index. They source their brand of seafood, chicken, and beef from sustainable farms.”

“Wallman’s doesn’t?” Grantaire can almost swear he’s seen a sign about sustainability at his local Wallman’s before.

“Wallman’s threatened its suppliers to only source sustainable materials, or they would cut them out,” Enjolras says. “It’s different. Quarry seeks already sustainable companies. When you force a company into sustainability, you’re not going to get the best results from them. Many of Wallman’s suppliers ended up laying off half their employees because of the transition to sustainable practices. They went about it all wrong.”

Grantaire shrugs, almost tripping over his own feet. He has horrible balance sometimes. It doesn’t help that his shoes are worn almost through the soles. “I guess I can see that. So Quarry is big on sustainability, likes women, and doesn’t pollute the environment.”

“Well, they do,” Enjolras says. “The point of carbon neutrality isn’t always to completely stop emitting greenhouse gases. Sometimes it’s inevitable. Quarry is working on getting their shipping fleet onto biodiesel, but until they can, they have to run on fuel. But Quarry invests in carbon offsets, like tree banks and carbon capture technologies. So they’re polluting, but they’re also taking carbon back out of the air. Thus, neutrality.”

“Welp, I learned something today,” Grantaire says. “So Quarry is an okay company to work for?”

“For the time being, it’s my best option,” he says. “On the store level, it sucks. But I’m all about the upstream changes.”

“So what’s your grand plan?” Grantaire says.

Enjolras heaves a sigh. “I don’t know completely. Once I can get the resources, I’m launching my first non-profit organization, right here in this very town. After that takes off, if it takes off, move somewhere else in need and do it again. I want to be change. I want to make peoples’ lives better.”

“What would you start here?” To his knowledge, there are no tigers in Suburbia, USA that need saving. 

“19% of elementary school kids go home at night and on the weekends hungry in this area,” Enjolras says. “I don’t want them to anymore. I’m going to start a non-profit that will help them. I haven’t decided if it will be an after-school center, or a food bank, or a food distribution center. I have some more research and number crunching to do. But that’s where I want to start. I want to take care of local hunger before I can move onto world hunger.”

Grantaire knows that pain all too well. He didn’t grow up in the wealthiest family. He always had food to eat, but it wasn’t much, and sometimes, it was at the cost of his mother eating that night. This town is an economic pitfall for half of the population. Grantaire doesn’t want to share this intimate of a story with Enjolras, so he just says, “That’s, uh, that’s really great. Really admirable. Let me know when I can donate.”

“I will,” Enjolras says, thus ending the conversation. At least the silence isn’t unbearable after this.

 

 

Grantaire makes sure Enjolras has the phone down before leaving him to cover his lunch. Enjolras walks him through the process flawlessly, so he’s confident when he goes on the walkie and says, “CTL Jenn? I’m going on lunch, Enjolras has the phone.”

“Sounds like a plan, my man,” she replies. “Have a good lunch.”

Grantaire nearly runs to the time clock to punch out for lunch. Quarry has strict regulations when it comes to lunch breaks. You absolutely must take at least 30 minutes; in fact, once you punch out, it will not let you punch back in until the 31st minute. You’re also not allowed to work off the clock, or you could get written up and even fired. So Grantaire enjoys his sanctuary for half an hour. HR was kind enough to provide Lunchables for the team today, so Grantaire gets to eat lunch. 

Cosette is in the break room. She usually comes to work half an hour early to eat before clocking in. For one of the smallest people in the store, she sure does require a lot of energy. “Hi, ‘Taire!” she exclaims, while screwing the cap back on her bottle of Dr. Pepper. 

“Hey!” he replies, sitting next to her at one of the tables in the room, two of the mini Lunchable packs in one hand. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” she says. “Hardlines today. I wish they would approve my request to be a permanent softlines team member.”

Grantaire likes Cosette a lot. She definitely has a past, and some family issues. She doesn’t talk about it often, but sometimes, when she’s in the fitting room closet with Grantaire, she vents a little. He doesn’t mind, though. She’s also become an exorbitantly compassionate person, and always has positivity to share. 

“I’m training someone in the fitting room today,” he says. “Enjolras, from guest service. You have him later this week, too.”

“Oh,” she says. “How is he?”

“Quick. Really quick to pick up on things. You’ll love him.”

She smiles at him a bit. “The blush on your face tells me you already do.”

“Please,” he snorts. “He’s one of those wannabe superheroes, save the kangaroos and build an elementary school for cats.”

She shrugs, still not abandoning her grin. “Makes life interesting.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. She’s always a bit more bold on the days where she takes the time to straighten her hair before coming to work. He gets it; if he had long hair as silky as hers, he’d whip it back and forth in everyone’s face. 

The phone rings for the first time twenty minutes into his lunch. Enjolras manages to pick it up on the second ding, which makes Grantaire smile. Finally, a competent person in the fitting room. It dings again, about five minutes later. It dings twice, then three times, then four. On the sixth ding, Grantaire’s anxiety takes over. He knows it’ll be his fault if the phone doesn’t get answered, and he can’t have that on his performance review. He really needs all the raises he can get. 

The time clock doesn’t let you clock back in until 31 minutes on the dot. He tries continuously to clock back in until it finally accepts it, then runs back to the fitting room. The phone is still dinging, probably with a now angry person, and Enjolras is on the phone with someone. He’s on the desk phone at the very least, so Grantaire can pick up the portable phone from the desk and answer it. “Thank you for calling Quary 237, please excuse the technical difficulties with our phone system. Can I help you find something?”

“Hey, it’s Bahorel. I just need to talk to the CTL.”

“Hey Bahorel, no problem,” Grantaire says. Bahorel sounds horrible, like he has the flu or something. Grantaire quickly puts the call on the empty line, lets Jenn know she has a call, and turns his attention to Enjolras. 

“But that isn’t the point. The sex education program at your school is obviously severely lacking if you think a penis that big-“

Grantaire, now mortified, quickly slams his hand down on the receiver to hang up. "What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You’re supposed to keep each call to a minute, tops!”

Enjolras looks almost offended that Grantaire would be so rude as to end his conversation about penis length so abruptly. “I was trying to educate her about human anatomy! She was asking for quadruple double XL condoms!”

Grantaire sits, his hands running through his hair. “Enjolras, that girl and her friends prank call the store about 20 times a weekend. Just hang up next time.”

“I know it was a prank call, but the fact that they’re teaching these kids that having monster sized dongs is normal is extremely damaging to their emotional and sexual maturity!” 

“Enjolras, I don’t know how old you are, but I’m pretty sure that talking to a 12-14 year-old about penis size is illegal for you,” he says.

“Only if I’m talking about theirs,” Enjolras replies, his voice sounding almost challenging. “Anyway, I got everything put away and I cleared out the rooms while you were gone, can I take my lunch?”

Grantaire sighs, still shaking a bit. He was almost in a full-blown panic attack just then. He nods. “Yeah, thank you. You’re really doing well back here so far. Have a good lunch.” 

"Thank you,” Enjolras says, his defensiveness abating. 

If Grantaire was allowed to, he would melt onto the floor and just lay there for a while. Instead, he checks in the guest waiting for a room and assesses the closet situation. Joly and Brett won’t be here until three to start the put-back, so he does what he can until the next cart from guest service is ready to sort. This is why he hates training people. Regardless of how good he is at his job, and how strikingly gorgeous the people they have him train are, it just isn’t good for his anxiety. Though he once looked forward to Tuesday night with Enjolras again, he now dreads it. 

Closing fitting room team members have even more responsibilities than opening ones. Grantaire doesn’t know how to tell Enjolras to put his morals aside for minutes at a time while he follows a big corporation’s policies. All he really knows is that if there was ever a time for the flu to be contagious over the phone, now would be it. Grantaire, once comfortable with the tension between them, is now back to being terrified. He should probably get used to it. 

 

 

When five o’clock rolls around, Enjolras and Grantaire hand the fitting room off to Chris, who usually closes on Sundays. They clock out, and walk outside together. “Hey, so good work today,” Grantaire says. “Not that you need me to talk to you like I’m your boss or anything. Just, you learn fast. Good job.”

Enjolras smirks a little. Grantaire wishes he could read those smirks. They only make him more apprehensive. “Thank you,” Enjolras says. “You’re a good teacher. I look forward to closing on Tuesday.”

Grantaire turns to unlock his bike, then notices that it’s not there. “Oh, fuck. Not again.”

Enjolras stops and turns, previously on the way to his car. “Something the matter?”

“Well my bike was here this morning,” Grantaire says. 

Enjolras’ eyes grow only slightly. “Seriously? Someone stole your bike?”

“That’s the logical conclusion,” Grantaire says. “Great.”

“Let me drive you home,” Enjolras offers. 

“No,” Grantaire says, a little too quickly. “Uh, that’s okay. I can walk.”

“No, Grantaire, let me drive you,” he says, his arms crossing. “Seriously, this town’s walkability is a joke.”

Grantaire sighs. “I appreciate it, I really do. You’re too kind. But no, thank you. Really.”

Enjolras hesitates, but says, “Okay. See you on Tuesday, then.”

“See you on Tuesday.”

He waits to see Enjolras get in his car, which turns out to be a Prius. Of course he drives a Prius. He also waits to see it turn right out of the parking lot, the opposite direction of where Grantaire lives. He already let Enjolras see his apathy for the greater human good today, he doesn’t need to let him see his shitty apartment complex across the street from what he’s sure is a meth lab. 

Luckily, Grantaire has an emergency bike fund. Ever since his last bike was stolen- the third in two years- he’s set aside a small portion of each pay check as a type of insurance. He’ll need about two more paychecks to have enough for a used bike, but that’s doable. He’s used to walking everywhere. The only thing that really sucks about this situation is that Enjolras is probably going to kidnap him after work on Tuesday night to take him home. Maybe he can slip out before him. Maybe he can convince his mom to use the gas to pick him up. Or maybe, just maybe, Enjolras will get to know him well enough that night to never want to be trapped in a small enclosure with him again. 

That seems the most likely scenario out of the three, and he would do just about anything at this point to keep his mild form of poverty away from Enjolras’ knowledge. The last thing he needs is a charity bracelet purchased in his honor. Well, that’s a lie. The very last thing he needs is Enjolras’ pity, and he will do everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t get it, even if it means lying to a human deity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is sassy. Bahorel is kind. Enjolras, for once in his life, is challenged.

Tuesday night comes too quickly for Grantaire’s preference. He isn’t in college, he can’t find a second job, so he basically spent his day off on Monday worrying. He can’t even explain why he’s so worried about the opinion of one person who is a semi-stranger. 

He reflects as he walks the three miles to Quarry, at 4:30 in the afternoon. He mainly has been focusing on what Cosette said. Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, he could possibly have some feelings for Enjolras? That would be crazy, wouldn’t it? He barely knows him. All he knows is that he is of the upper class in this economic wasteland of a town, and he has an affinity for string disguised as charity. Is he physically attractive? Absolutely. Grantaire wouldn’t deny for a second that Enjolras is an aesthetically pleasing person. But he also finds Cosette, Musichetta, Chris, Marius, and even Jenn to be attractive, and none of them intimidate him as much as Enjolras does. He literally makes him feel weaker than his own boss does. 

Grantaire walks at a leisurely pace. It takes him about an hour to walk from his apartment to his store, and no matter what time of year it is, it always makes him break a sweat. That's why today, he leaves fifteen minutes early, so he can clean up and not smell like a zoo animal when he’s in close quarters with Enjolras again. His anxiety makes him the most detail-oriented person he knows. 

Traffic in this town is terrible most of the time. After Grantaire almost gets hit by a car, driven by someone who was texting, he decides to pick up the pace and get to safety quickly. It was the last crosswalk before Quarry, luckily. As he crosses the parking lot and approaches the building, he notices Enjolras’ Prius parked in the designated employee area. It’s the sky blue color, with a few bumper stickers on the windows. One with a bunch of eco-friendly sayings making up the outline of the world, one that says ‘coexist’ in different religious symbols, and one of those blue and yellow equal signs. Grantaire can’t help but smile ever so subtly to himself. When Enjolras commits, he really fucking commits. 

Grantaire uses almost an entire roll of paper towels to clean up his sweat once he gets to the bathroom inside. His hair is not only a curly mess, but it’s also quite thick. It’s like wearing a wool hat constantly. He tried to shave his head once, during his freshman year of high school. He immediately regretted the decision, and wore his gray beanie the entire six months it took for it to grow to an acceptable length. He thinks his head is shaped too weirdly to rock the hairless look. 

He still has about five minutes until he can clock in, so he heads to the break room for some water. It’s deserted, with an old episode of The Brady Bunch blaring on the TV. Grantaire secretly loves that the median age of daytime workers at Quarry is about 75, because it gives him an excuse to watch all the old TV programs they put on in the break room. He is addicted to bad drama and TV graphics circa 1970. He almost can’t pry himself away, until he remembers the new pair of shoes his sister is going to need pretty soon. They’re allowed to clock on up to five minutes early, and even though that only equates to about $0.68 extra before taxes, every little bit counts. 

He quickly gets his equipment and heads back. He’s both tired and wired today. Enjolras is already back there, clearing off the desk. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Enjolras replies. 

“Welcome to day two of my nightmare,” Grantaire says. 

He picks up the schedule to look at who is closing tonight. He and Enjolras in the fitting room, Chris and Musichetta in softlines, Bahorel and Brett in Hardlines, and Marius in electronics. He hopes that Bahorel is over his sickness, because he and Grantaire are a force to be reckoned with when they’re together at work. They’re known throughout the entire store as the “dynamic duo”. The two refer to each other as both their bro and their soul sister. Most importantly, Grantaire has been told that he is quite annoying when he’s around Bahorel, because he brings out his true self. Hopefully, Enjolras will share that opinion. 

Ryan is the closing CTL tonight, which is the cherry on top. He is the newest Team Lead in the store, and is a total bro. Grantaire loves closing with him. He is the only TL in the store that gives positive feedback throughout the night, even if you are working slower than you should be. He also comps beverages for them at around 9, an hour before they close. He’s only a few inches taller than Grantaire, too, which makes him one of the only people at the store to not tower over him when they’re talking. 

“So, do we do anything different tonight?” Enjolras asks, as he folds the last of the shirts left on the desk. It’s a brownish-red, much like the color he chose to wear to work today. Grantaire’s is cherry red, with a few holes here and there. His other three work shirts look exactly the same. 

Grantaire puts the schedule down and says, “Yes. Closing sucks. We’re responsible for everything we did on Sunday, but now we also have to fix men’s, activewear, and intimates.”

Enjolras frowns. “So we have to leave a clean fitting room, help all the guests, and clean up three different areas? And answer the phones? How?”

“See, that’s why it’s rare that the opener comes into work to a clean fitting room,” Grantaire replies. “Some nights are better than others. It’s easier in the summer, after Easter to just before back-to-school starts. Back-to-school sucks, Black Friday through New Year sucks, and March through Easter sucks.”

“I didn’t work here for back-to-school,” Enjolras says. “I didn’t start until November last year. Is it that bad?”

Grantaire almost snorts. “I would rather work 12 Black Fridays back to back than work back-to-school season. It’s a nightmare. It was a back-to-school season when I was hired, and I did a lot of hardlines. Grown ass women asking you in the most condescending voice imaginable, ‘What do you MEAN you’re out of glue sticks?!’. It sucks.”

Enjolras laughs. “I get that a lot at guest services, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. “When you’re ringing up someone with literally hundreds of folders in their cart, don’t bitch to me about it.”

“I won’t.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes subtly. So much for trying to prepare people to deal with literally the worst of humanity. He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on some music so he can finish sorting the leftover cart in peace. 

“Haven’t seen an iPhone 3 in a while,” Enjolras says, as he joins him in the closet. 

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. What can I say, I’m emotionally attached to it. Every time I think of getting the 6, I imagine my 3 crying alone in the rain about why I don’t love it anymore.”

The truth is, Grantaire didn’t even pay for his iPhone 3. He got it from Bahorel for free when Bahorel upgraded to the 4S. A free phone, plus the pre-paid credits he gets at his 10% employee discount from Quarry’s mobile sector, enables him to have a phone. 

They finish the cart at 5:40. As they prepare to trek into men’s, mainly just to fold the graphic tees and pick up the clearance section, Ryan announces over the walkie, “Hey, team. We’re going to gather at 6, please take your break now if you need to.”

Grantaire won’t take his until 7:30, probably after Golden Boy. He wants to hate his pretentiousness, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even find it annoying. “What’s gather mean?”

“It’s like a mini meeting,” Grantaire says. “Closing team gathers every night, hears news about the store. Depending on who is closing CTL, we might play a game or something. It’s a good waste of 20 minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Enjolras says. “Does Ryan play games?”

“Not typically,” Grantaire says. “But he’s chill, so he spends about ten of those minutes joking around with us. Literally, me and Bahorel can bullshit with him the entire time sometimes.”

“That’s definitely worth $9 an hour.”

Well that sucks. Golden Boy makes $.075 more than Grantaire, and for what? Cause he gets yelled at in person, opposed to on the phone? Poor baby. “And hula hooping contests are so much better.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply to this. Instead, he continues the charge into men’s, to the opposite end from where the fitting room is. “So, how do we fix it?”

“Pick up everything off the floor, fold all of the clothes on the tables, and make sure the clothes on the racks are in order by size,” Grantaire says. “Really easy. You’ll get this same training with Cosette in softlines. You know how to fold already, so let’s get to it.”

“And wouldn’t it be smarter if one of us was to stay at the fitting room while the other fixes the zone?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No, it wouldn’t. You’re training so you can one day run the fitting room closing shift by yourself. You need to be familiar with trying to balance everything, because you’ll be all on your own when the time comes.”

Enjolras nods. “I guess that makes sense.”

“I usually fix men’s in about an hour, then spend about half an hour in the fitting room, then repeat the cycle in the other two areas. You’ll find your own groove the more you’re back here, but I don’t know how many fitting room shifts you’ll get considering they already have a pretty solid schedule mapped out for all of us.”

“You sound very defensive of the position you hate so much.”

That shuts Grantaire right up. Yes, he hates his job. Everyone here hates their job, except the old people cashiers who live for the social interaction they wouldn’t otherwise be getting. It’s a long ten minutes until the gathering is called. When it is, Ryan tells them to meet up in the middle of the store, where the kids clothing department meets home goods. 

They walk past the infant section on the way there, to see Bahorel folding a table. Grantaire smiles. “Hey! Glad to see you’re not dying.”

“I’m on a cocktail of so many different medicines, Amy Winehouse is blushing,” Bahorel replies, snickering along with Grantaire. 

Bahorel is a stockier person. He has short hair, the kind of short you can only achieve with an electric razor and a guard. He wears wire-framed glasses, and has a very mellow grunt of a voice. He also has the warmest smile you could ever see in a person. Grantaire sort of ditches Enjolras to walk with Bahorel the additional ten feet to the gathering spot. They’re the first three to arrive. 

“What are you doing infants tonight, man?” Grantaire asks Bahorel, taking his spot next to him when they stop walking. “I thought you were scheduled for hardlines.”

“I was, but Musichetta called out, so Ryan moved me over.”

Grantaire laughs. He laughs the hardest he’s laughed all day. Bahorel _hates_ softlines. He’s been known to call out for his softlines shifts, or at least talk a hardlines person into switching roles with him. Bahorel rolls his eyes playfully as Grantaire continues to taunt him. The last time Grantaire was scheduled for hardlines, Bahorel walked past him all night laughing at his disdain. Grantaire takes his moment to get back at him.

What many people who work here don’t know about Grantaire is that he took dance classes from the time he was 6 to time he was 11 at the local community center. They were part of this free after school program they offered to single parents in the area; though there were many activities offered, he throughly enjoyed dancing, and all artistic endeavor for that matter. He was particularly good at the ballet portion of the classes. Therefore, it’s only natural for him to taunt Bahorel in the one way he truly knows will get under his skin: up in releve, his arms up in fifth position, dancing around him in a circle while singing to the tune of a popular Disney ballad sung by an ice queen. “Fucking rekt, fucking rekt, no hardlines for you anymoooore.”

His arms come down with a flourish at the end, making Bahorel shake his head while still grinning. “I hate you so much.”

Grantaire just blows him a kiss as the rest of the team begins to assemble. “Good afternoon, class,” Ryan says as he walks up to the circle of team members. “I’m Ryan, and I’ll be your captain tonight. First thing’s first, we will be getting our new store manager next week. I’ve not met her yet, but I’ve been told she’s a nice person, so let’s be on good behavior. Also, next week, we are hosting two volunteer events. If you would like to sign up for these events, I have the sign up sheets right here. The first one is on Monday, we’re reading to kids at Oaktown Elementary.”

“What are we reading them?” Bahorel asks.

Grantaire smirks. “ _Fight Club_.”

Bahorel laughs, as does most of the group, including Ryan. Bahorel keeps it going. “ _Heart of Darkness_.”

“ _Orange is the New Black_.”

“ _Who Moved My Cheese?_.”

“ _War and Peace_.”

“ _Crime and Punishment_.”

“ _Dead Souls_.”

“ _A Clockwork Orange_.”

“You done yet?” Ryan asks the two, his eyes suggesting an amused smirk on the horizon.

“ _Lolita_ ,” Grantaire says. “Now I am.”

Ryan starts the first sheet going around with a pen, then starts talking again. “The next event is on Thursday, we’re participating in Feed My Starving Children.”

“Are we actually feeding your starving children?” Bahorel asks him, earning a hearty “HA!” from Grantaire. 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re about one comment away from losing your Mountain Dew tonight.”

“We cool,” Bahorel says, his hands coming up in a defensive manner. “Carry on.”

Ryan concludes with, “Alright guys, that’s all the announcements I have for tonight. Let’s focus on our areas, get a nice tight fix, we’ll leave a strong store for the opening CTL tomorrow. Which happens to be me, so let's get our stuff done.”

They break off, the time being 6:20. This is the slowest evening ever for Grantaire. He and Enjolras make their way back to their area, to pick up where they left off. Luckily, not a lot of people shop in men’s during the evening, so no one messed up their progress. At 6:35, Enjolras asks him, “So, replace your bike?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Do you-“

“I’m good, thanks,” he says. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes a bit. “You can swallow your pride and accept help for once, you know.”

Grantaire picks up his walkie and says, “Hey, Bahorel? Can you go to channel 4?”

“On it,” Bahorel’s voice replies not a minute later.

He switches his walkie channel from the universal channel 1 to 4. “You here?”

“I’m here.”

“Hey, somebody iced my bike a few days ago. Can I ask for a ride home from you?”

“If you don’t mind a road trip through McDonalds to satisfy my hunger between here and your place,” he says. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks, sweet cheeks,” Grantaire says. “Back to 1.”

“There you go,” Enjolras says, placing a folded Spider-Man t-shirt on the table with a bit more force than necessary. 

Grantaire pauses to reflect once more. Enjolras has spend a solid hour and forty five minutes with him today, and has already insulted him, rolled his eyes more times than he can count, and asserted his obvious social class standing above his own. And now, he’s somehow inconvenienced that Grantaire would ask the closest thing to a best friend for a ride home instead of letting him drive him home while yammering on about how great his Prius is for the environment? _For someone who claims to understand privilege, he sure can talk right through his own_ , Grantaire thinks. Or, he thinks he thinks it. 

“What?” Enjolras says.

“What?” Grantaire repeats instantly.

Enjolras’ left eyebrow raises, his eyes fixing into a glare. His bright, sparkling blue eyes. Those eyes are unfair to man and God alike. “Did you just tell me to check my privilege under your breath?”

“Check your hearing is more like it, am I right?” Grantaire says, his attention turning to the table set behind him. "I don’t say shit like that. I don't have a Tumblr account.”

He actually does have a Tumblr account. He runs a Tumblr blog that is mostly full of art- photos of dancers, drawing, paintings, some sketches of his own. Tumblr is his escape from his mindless life outside of work. 

Enjolras, to Grantaire’s surprise, actually gets a chuckle out of that. “I had to get rid of mine. It became too hostile of an environment for me, especially when I started receiving the death threats.”

Grantaire nearly drops the henley in his hands. “Death threats?”

Enjolras nods. “Oh, yeah. A few persistent ‘meninists’ insisting that the ideas of gender equality I was spreading were somehow a threat to masculinity as a whole, or something like that.”

“Excuse me,” a guest says, approaching Grantaire. She’s as tall as he is, with short blonde hair and soccer mom jeans.

“Yes,” Grantaire says. “What can I help you find?”

“I’m looking for shelf liners, for the pantry.”

“I’ll show you,” Grantaire replies, handing the portable phone to Enjolras. “Hold down the fort.”

 

 

After the store closes, the team stays about an hour to make sure everything is done. This is why they're scheduled to 11, when the store closes at 10. Grantaire and Enjolras got their areas fixed by 9:30, so once all of the guests are out of the store, they get sent to help Bahorel in the girls’ clothing section. It is by far the worst in the store, always. 

Grantaire and Bahorel are joking together while folding a table, until Enjolras says, “You know, it’s really messed up to make fun of volunteerism like you two did tonight. There isn’t anything wrong with donating your time to help others.”

“Didn’t see your name on the lists,” Grantaire replies. “I signed up for both of them.”

“Yeah dude, you need to calm your titties,” Bahorel says. “We weren’t making fun of volunteerism, we were joking with each other like we do sometimes.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I’m sure the starving kids in the area feel the same way you do.”

“You don’t know what starving kids feel,” Grantaire says, feeling a little bit defensive. “You’re lucky enough to have grown up knowing where your next meal was coming from. Just because you feel sorry for someone doesn’t mean you can become their spokesperson.”

Shit gets real all too quickly. Bahorel pretends something is fascinating on the ceiling while Enjolras just stands in bewilderment, as if nobody has ever challenged a belief of his before. “I’m not-“

“Hey guys, let’s wrap it up,” Ryan says over the walkie. “Good job tonight. Meet me at the door in five.”

There’s a brief pause, before Enjolras says, “I didn’t mean to imply that I’m trying to be anyone’s spokesperson. I just think it’s in poor taste to mock poverty.”

Before Grantaire can dig himself into a hole, Bahorel says, “Someone was read _Dead Souls_ as a child.”

Grantaire just smirks, then turns around to follow Bahorel to the time clock. 

 

 

“What do you want, twinkle toes?” Bahorel asks as he pulls into the McDonald’s drive-thru, the third car in line. 

“Nothing, thanks,” Grantaire says.

Bahorel sighs. “Dude, let me buy you food. Don’t make it weird.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Chicken McNuggets with buffalo sauce, please.”

“There, was that so hard?” Bahorel asks, shooting a smirk his way. When it’s their turn, he says, “Hi, can I have two Big Macs, large fries, a large chocolate shake, the large ten piece McNugget meal with buffalo sauce and Dr. Pepper, and let’s add a cheeseburger without onions for luck.”

The items slowly showed up on the screen in front of them, along with the total. They did get a ton of food for $17. The drive to Grantaire’s apartment complex is relatively uneventful. They sing along to the latest Green Day single on the radio, before Bahorel breaks up the food. He puts the cheeseburger in Grantaire’s bag. “Dude, you know I don’t like those.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for Sophie,” he replies. 

Grantaire smiles. “Thank you. And thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “Any time you need a ride dude, just hit me up.”

Grantaire man-hugs him as best as he can from his seat, before standing up out of the car and taking his food. “Night.”

He runs up the two flights of stairs to his apartment, careful to tread lightly as not to disturb his neighbors. He’s quite frightened of the people who live below him; they spend about 18/24 hours a day just yelling at each other. He opens his door, to see his little sister doing her homework in front of the TV. Grantaire was able to pick up an HDMI cable from Quarry for about $3, so they can watch cable TV shows he torrents from his computer. He was the lucky winner of the 25” flat screen TV last Christmas Eve, in the raffle Quarry holds for Christmas Eve closers, so they had some luxury in their otherwise dumpy home. 

“Hey, R,” Sophie says, barely looking up from her workbook. 

She’s 12 years old, in the sixth grade. She technically is Grantaire’s half sister, the child of his mother and a mystery man he never even got to meet. She’s half Brazilian, yet somehow shares features with Grantaire. Him, Sophie, and his mother all have the same button nose and the same thick, unbearably hot hair. “Hey, kid.”

“How was work?” 

“Nobody burned the building down with me trapped inside of it, so I can’t complain too much.”

She giggles. Grantaire definitely passed his twisted sense of humor onto her. “That is good. Mama’s waiting up for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” he says, and walks to the door of their mother’s room. The lights are off, but her tiny TV is flashing against the wall. 

“Hey, ma, I’m home,” he says. 

She looks up from where she lays. “Hey, you.”

“Did you need to see me for something?”

“Just wanted to make sure you made it home in one piece.”

He nods. “Bahorel drove me home, I’m good. Night, ma.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

His mother is the best person in the world, as far as Grantaire is concerned. She’s about 5’2, with mom jeans and the mom haircut that barely grazes the shoulders. She’s also quite pudgy, with rich brown eyes much like Grantaire’s. She works an average of 50 hours a week at the hospital in town, in the cafeteria. She’s been there long enough that they have basic healthcare coverage, and enough income to keep them relatively fed and clothed. 

“Hungry?” Grantaire asks Sophie, sitting next to her on the couch. 

“Starving,” she replies. “We had soup again for dinner.”

“Yeah, mom does love her 90 gallon soup recipes,” he says. “Bahorel bought you a cheeseburger if you’re interested.”

She perks right up, almost flinging her pencil across the room. “I’m very interested. Are there onions on it?”

“What kind of person do you think he is? Of course there isn’t.”

She accepts it from him and digs right into it. “Thank him for me, please.”

“I will,” he says. “Slow down, I have fries, too.”

They both devour their food quickly. Grantaire feels satisfied, and suddenly very sleepy. “Don’t you have school in the morning?”

She nods. “Yep.”

“And aren’t you waking up at 7 for said school?”

“Yyyyyep.”

“Bed, missy.”

“Homework, mister.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be the kind of student I was, Soph. You need to get a scholarship for college and get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I’ll go to bed soon, I promise.”

He stands, throws their garbage away, then pats her on the head. “Well, I’m going to bed. Turn off my laptop when you’re done, please.”

He technically shares a room with his sister, since his mother can only afford two bedrooms. But they don’t get half the room evenly. He put up a room divider around the walk-in closet, where his full-sized mattress is. He sleeps in there, with a portable fan to make it livable, while his sister has rule of about 90% of the actual bedroom. He prefers it that way. He likes having his own little cave to himself. Plus, he can stay up all night on his computer or his phone without disturbing anyone. 

He used to think his situation sucks. For the most part, to anyone else, it does. But he’s made the best of it. In fact, his entire family’s lives have improved since he started working at Quarry. He brings in at least $250 per paycheck, which takes a lot of the load off of his mother in terms of providing for him. He even takes care of bigger necessities for Sophie, like shoes, because he gets discounts on them at his store. He’s found a way to make this life work for him, and even though he wishes he could afford to go to college, he’s quite content with it. 

If only he could keep his mouth shut around Golden Boy about it. Given the amount of not shutting up Enjolras does about the less fortunate, Grantaire fears he might just snap one day, break down into his arms and cry about the things that could never happen. Break down into those muscly, long, coffee-scented arms. Grantaire catches himself before he lets _that_ thought go any further. In fact, he tries to stop all of them altogether. The last thing he wants to happen tonight is to fall asleep thinking of him, and then have a dream about him riding a dolphin while pulling him into the middle class. Not that he had that dream just the night before or anything… 

It was an endangered rhino in that dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's sharks and lesbians and really angry adults.

“I just don’t know, man,” Grantaire says, adjusting his seat belt in Bahorel’s car as they drive to the local elementary school. “He isn’t an asshole, he’s just…”

“Pretentious, spoiled, disillusioned, and vanilla?”

Grantaire gives him a look, the same look one would find a mother giving their child when they knock over the Garth Brooks CD display at Barnes and Noble. “He isn’t disillusioned. Pretentious and spoiled, absolutely. He has a good heart, though, and he wants to do good in the world. You can’t really blame him for that.”

“He’s an armchair slacktivist and you know it,” Bahorel says. “He’s quick to judge people for disagreeing with him, yet so far, he’s only been a bunch of talk.”

Grantaire can’t argue with this. Enjolras does have noble goals, but so far, he hasn’t done anything about them. He wants to feed starving children, yet his name was nowhere near the sign-up sheet for an event catered to doing just that. “Yeah.”

Bahorel pulls into the parking lot and parks haphazardly in the corner of the visitor section. Elementary schools in this area are pretty much locked down like prisons. They made sure their IDs were out and visible before walking into the administration office to sign in. After their visitor badges are clearly displaying on their shirts, they turn to sit in the chairs lining the wall and wait for the rest of their coworkers to arrive. One person is already sitting there, head down as they read something. A mess of blond hair sits atop that head, attached to a body with a left leg that jiggles rhythmically when it sits. Grantaire feels lucky that the topic was dropped prior to entering the building. 

“Oh, hey,” he says. 

Enjolras looks up from his tattered book. “Hey.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He and Bahorel sit, Grantaire between the two. “Yeah, I felt like an ass hole after berating you two for joking around about reading to kids without signing up to do it.”

“Ain’t no charity like guilt-ridden charity,” Bahorel says, looking at the reception desk in front of them. 

Grantaire elbows him in the ribs. “Isn’t all charity kind of guilt-ridden?”

Enjolras shoots him a look. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Ugh, I swear! Joly is sitting between you two on the ride back!” 

They look up to see Cosette, Marius, Chris, and Joly enter the school. All they’re missing are Jenn and Allen, the two team leads who were planning the event. They also are bringing the books, so hopefully they show up soon. As the four new arrivals sign in, Grantaire says, “Didn’t see your Prius in the parking lot.”

“I walked,” Enjolras replies. “I try not to drive everywhere. Plus, I live across the street.”

There’s two ‘across the street’s that make sense in a residential context: the nicest apartment complex in the area, and the second nicest neighborhood, a gated community. Both would make sense for Enjolras. Grantaire has no idea what to do with this information, or really, if this information even matters to him. Though now he has a better argument for Enjolras to never drive him home other than incoherent stuttering; he simply lives too out of the way. 

"So, Encore," Bahorel says, turning to face him. "You like kids?"

"It's Enjolras," he corrects. "And I guess. Not really planning on having kids, but they're okay. Do you?"

"Sure," he says. "Who doesn't like kids?"

Grantaire clears his throat. He knows the tone of voice Bahorel is using, he's trying to find something to get a rise out of Enjolras. That's definitely one of his character flaws: once he doesn't like someone, he will try his hardest to get under their skin. Not in a disrespectful way, but in a purely annoying spirit. Grantaire can be the same way sometimes. They're pretty much kids still, in some aspects. "I love kids," Grantaire says. "Too much. A kid was crying at work the other night because he couldn't find his choo choo, I almost started crying myself." 

Enjolras offers him a smile, while Bahorel laughs. "Why do I get that image crystal clear in my head?"

"Probably because it's happened before," Chris offers, who is now leaning against the wall next to Enjolras' chair. He's easily the tallest person here, and gay as the day is long. He's one of the softlines team members that makes the team a coherent group. One of the best senses of humor in the world, mainly because it doesn't rely on the expense of others.

There's still no sign of their Team Leads. Cosette and Marius, now apparently together, stand a good five feet away from the group, talking quietly to one another. Marius looks down at her as if life wasn't interesting until she got hired at Quarry. Grantaire believes it. 

"Bike replaced?"

Grantaire snaps out of his daze and says, "Not yet, no. Bahorel drove me."

"I got it covered, Enrollment," Bahorel says. "But we'll give you a call if we need an understudy."

"Did I do something to offend you, or are you this unpleasant to everyone?" Enjolras says, his tipping point noticeably met. 

Bahorel smirks, ever so subtly. "Here we go," Grantaire mutters. 

"You've done nothing to offend me. But when you sit there and talk down to my best friend because he wasn't born in the lap of fucking luxury like you were, I'm not exactly going to invite you camping," he says, surprisingly calmly. Grantaire can't even think of confrontation without his eyes watering up and his voice cracking. And when did they cross the threshold into best friendom? Should he plan a camping trip with him now? And what does camping have to do with friendship, anyway?

Enjolras stares at Bahorel, intensity in his eyes and tension clenching his mouth shut. Cosette is trying desperately to maintain a conversation with the group standing to the right of them, but Chris and Joly are glued to the drama unfolding in front of them. Joly knows when to keep his mouth shut. Chris never has. “Ooooh, is that an attitude face?”

“Chris, please,” Grantaire begs. His heart is pounding like a knife is being held to his throat. He isn’t sure what to do. He appreciates Bahorel’s attempt to stick up for him, to get Enjolras to butt out of his personal life, but he also doesn’t want Enjolras to hate him. He is truly stuck. 

Enjolras turns to face Grantaire more fully. “If I have said anything to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry."

Grantaire says nothing, but nods. He temporarily forgets how to speak. The awkward silence that falls on the group is short lived, as Allen and Jenn finally enter the school. They sign in quickly, and turn to address the group. “Okay,” Jenn says. “We’re visiting the first graders today. There’s nine of us, and four classes, so we’ll break off into groups and read two books to each class.”

“I call Gra-“

“If you think we paired you two together, you need to be drug tested again,” Allen says, cutting off Bahorel. “Remember what happened last time, with the pre-K kids?”

When they were last here, the two boys managed to make no less than six of the kids cry. They were reading the 13 Nights of Halloween book to them, and taking the liberty to point out all of the horrific things that would happen if one was actually given twelve vampires nibbling as a gift. It didn’t occur to them that it would scare the kids, both of them grew up with an intense infatuation of Halloween and all things spooky. Four year old Grantaire and Bahorel would have loved that story time. Bahorel shrugs. “I don’t recall.”

“Yeah, okay,” Allen says. “You’re with Cosette. Marius is with Chris, Jenn is with Joly and myself, and Grantaire is with Enjolras. Everyone grab a book and get a room assignment.”

Everyone reaches in and grabs a book from the box in Allen's arms. Grantaire ends up with a non-fiction book about sharks, which he is absolutely delighted about. He loves everything about the ocean. Enjolras grabs a book called "Julie Has Two Mommies”. Grantaire briefly believes in fate. They were assigned a classroom in one of the portable classrooms, outside in the playground. "These are classrooms?”

Grantaire nods. “These are classrooms. They bring these in when schools in the district close and those kids are displaced here. In fact, I was in that one fourth through sixth grade.”

He points to the one directly behind their assigned classroom. There’s a large streak of rust down the side of it, where water from the air conditioning unit leaks out. “That’s depressing. I knew the city government didn’t give two shits about education, but not to this extent.”

“You’d be surprised. This is us.”

 

 

Enjolras’ book, surprisingly, is received well by the class. He reads with enthusiasm, pausing briefly to point out the important details in the illustrations. The only real question the kids have about this book comes from one sitting in the back. “How come Julie gets two mommies, and I only get one? I want two.”

Enjolras smiles. “Two mommies would be cool, huh?”

“Yeah! Then I could make two clay hand prints for mother’s day instead of just one!” 

Both Enjolras and Grantaire feel good as Grantaire steps up to read about the ocean’s most misunderstood predator. He has to skip a lot of the technical words, but he makes it a point to read the part about what they hunt. “Uh…. so sharks eat fish, seals, birds, dead whales, sometimes other sharks. Oh, here’s a fun fact. Sharks only bite humans because they can’t tell we’re not seals. Once they realize we’re too much bone and not enough meat, they leave us alone. So don’t be afraid of sharks, they don’t actually want to eat you.”

They’re just kind of staring at him blankly. He isn’t sure what to do, so he turns the book to show them a picture of a bull shark with a seagull in its mouth. A few of the kids said, “Gross!”, while a set of twin girls in the front row simultaneously exclaimed, “Awesome!” 

“Now, who can guess what sharks’ number one predator is?”

The kids shoot their hands into the air, before resorting to calling random things out.

“Octopus!”

“Lion!”

“Blue whale?”

“Blue whales don’t have teeth!” 

“Orcas! I saw one eating a shark one time!”

Grantaire smiles, waits for a kid to get “Tyrannosaurus rex!” out of their system, then says, “Orcas do like to snack on a few different sharks, yes. But the number one predator of sharks is actually us. We kill sharks to eat their fins in soup. We need to stop doing that, because we’re killing them faster in a few centuries than they were killed in a few million years.”

“I ate shark once, it was yummy,” some little kid in the back said. Grantaire feels badly, as this kid is most likely Japanese. He doesn’t want to offend anyone, but his partner seems to have no problem with that. 

“Yummy enough that you’ll eat it again?”

He nods. “Yeah!”

“So you’re okay with the mass slaughter of sharks for the sole purpose of human consumption.”

“Um……. yes?”

Grantaire freezes. Enjolras crosses his arms, his charming smile melted from his face. “So you’d be okay with someone cutting off your arms and legs and ripping out your inner ear, then leaving you to flop around in the ocean until you die?”

Yep. There’s definitely tears coming out of the poor kid’s eyes, and several others. Grantaire doesn’t know what comes over him, but he bursts into laughter. He laughs so hard that he has to sit down. He laughs until the school’s security guards come and take them to the principal’s office, then he laughs some more when the principal is staring down the two of them. She clears her throat loudly. Her piercing brown eyes bore into him, under remarkably kept eyebrows, blonde to match her hair. “If you’ve finished.”

He calms himself down to a chuckle, having to clench his jaw to keep a straight face. “Sorry.”

“Didn’t I have problems with you last time?” she asks, her voice booming. 

He nods. “Yesh.”

“And didn’t I tell you last time that your behavior can get you banned from this school if it continues?”

“To be fair, ma’am, I’m not the one who made the kids cry this time,” he says, suppressing a snicker. 

Her left eyebrow raises. “I’m not seeing the humor in this situation. You are on your final warning. If another child cries while you’re on school property, regardless of you being the cause or not, you and your store are banned. Am I making myself clear?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Go wait for your group, you’re done with the kids for today.”

The two walk silently to the chairs from before and take a seat. The office is bare, half of the staff sent home by now. Grantaire peeks over at Enjolras from the side, then starts laughing again. It’s more of a giggle this time. Enjolras shoots him a look and sharply demands, “What?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire says. “It’s just… it’s a really good thing you’re not planning on having kids.”

Enjolras thinks for a few seconds, then joins him in laughter. After five seconds pass, he says, “Yeah, that was kind of bad, wasn’t it?”

“Just a lot.”

They share a smile together, before Enjolras says, “I’m working on it. College, learning about all the truly messed up shit in the world, it puts me in a weird place sometimes when I get into it.”

“Hey, I’m not here to judge,” Grantaire says, his hand disobeying every instinct within him by resting on Enjolras’ shoulder. “I’m sure the sharks appreciate it.”

The two laugh once more, interrupted only by the principal stepping outside of her office to glare at them. They stop, locking eyes with her. As soon as she’s back in her office, this time with the door closed, they look at each other an begin the cycle all over again.

 

 

Grantaire has no problem falling asleep that night. He was in such a good mood after reading to the kids, even despite what happened. He's sure the principal is going to call his store about the incident, like last time, but he really isn't all that worried. He didn't even get a slap on the wrist last time. 

He decided to splurge, and buy pizza for his family for dinner, Bahorel joining them. He didn't tell Bahorel about the incident; with the weirdness of earlier in the day, he didn't need to add fuel to the Bahorel/Enjolras fire. Especially after Bahorel expressed his best friend feelings for him, which seemingly came out of nowhere, but was nice all the same. It really was a great day for Grantaire. He doesn’t even care that he has to turn in early, to wake up for his 8:30 shift the next day. 

He makes it to the store in plenty of time. As he walks in, his gaze automatically averts to the guest service area. Enjolras is there, reading a piece of paper. He looks up and smiles at Grantaire. Grantaire smiles back, a quarter of the butterflies in his stomach than normal, and nods a greeting to him, then walks to the time clock. Just as he clocks in for the day, Jenn walks down the hallway and directly up to him. She’s emotionless. Maybe she’s tired? “Hey, Grantaire. HR will be in at 2 today. She and I would like to talk to you about your future here at Quarry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoooooow, this took a long time and probably wasn't worth the wait. I've been working full time lately at the real life store that inspires Quarry, which for legal reasons, I will not disclose (but it's probably really fucking obvious anyway, shhhh). The good news is, I know which direction the story is definitely going now. Stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is a rollercoaster. Grantaire hates rollercoasters.

Grantaire doesn’t know how to react. He simply nods, before too much time passes, and says, “Yeah, okay. Should I just come to the office at 2, or…”

“We’ll call you in,” she says. “Have a good morning.”

Well fuck. _Your future at Quarry_ could mean absolutely fucking anything. Does the district TL want him to transfer locations for some reason? Is Jenn leaving, and somehow, only entrusting Grantaire to take over her position, complete with $65,000 a year and benefits compensation? That would solve a lot of his problems, but it’s as likely as the president of the US coming in and appointing him his new Vice President. No, the most likely scenario is Grantaire is going to get fired for jeopardizing the relationship between Quarry and Oaktown Elementary. 

Grantaire shakily makes his way to guest services, to get the cart of unsorted clothing waiting for him. Enjolras is flipping through a small stack of papers, some new credit card policy all of the front end people need to be aware of. “Hey,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras looks up. His hair is fluffier today, not as curly as normal. Grantaire notices the lack of product in it today. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Hey, did uh, did Jenn talk to you about what happened yesterday?”

He nods. “Yeah, soon as I clocked in.”

“Was it all ominous and nerve-wracking?”

Enjolras’ head shakes. “No, not at all. She just said when we’re at Quarry sponsored events, we need to act in a way that reflects positively on the company. She said that it was my first volunteer event, and she won’t put it in my record or anything, but she just wanted to give me feedback.”

“Ah,” Grantaire says. “Cool. Okay. Thanks.”

“Mmhmm,” Enjolras says. “I had a lot of fun yesterday. You made it fun.”

Grantaire forgets Jenn even exists for a moment. His smile is involuntary, as are the jumbles running through his middle. “Thanks. I had fun, too. You’re a good partner, when you’re not condemning children to being quartered.”

He laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ll be in my corner if you need me for whatever,” Grantaire says, taking his full cart.

“I’ll be here.”

Grantaire’s stomach sinks with every step. The weight of the consequences of their actions yesterday is bearing deeply into him. The fucked up thing is, Grantaire barely did anything wrong. Laughing uncontrollably at Enjolras’ grim serving of reality wasn’t the best reaction to have, but it isn’t like he’s the one who started it this time. And he’s getting more than a slap on the wrist for it? Quarry is a piece of shit sometimes. And now he has to wait five and a half hours to hear it.

“Hey, bout time you got here,” Joly says, handing him the portable phone. “I hate when they schedule fitting room to come in after me. Uh, Taire?”

“Hm?”

Grantaire was kind of staring at the wall behind Joly while he was talking. He snaps out when he hears his name. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“The ghost of my gainful employment.”

He fills him in on the past five or so minutes. Joly’s standing kind of awkwardly, unsure of how to react. “Wow, Taire. That… sucks. Like, what proof do they have that you did what they think you did?”

“I don’t even know what they think I did,” Grantaire says. “I don’t know what the principal told them. I don’t know if they’ll believe that all I did was laugh. I don’t even know if I can storm into Hannah’s office and put all the blame on Enjolras.”

“Why not?” Joly asks. “I mean it’s not like you gave the kids the graphic details of goddamn shark finning in a horrifyingly relatable way. You laughed. I would have done the same thing if I were in that classroom.”

“But-“

“Enjolras made the mistake, and you shouldn’t have to pay for it,” Joly says. “Enjolras got a slap on the wrist for it, he isn’t going to get fired if you defend yourself.”

Grantaire sighs. His red shirt feels extra red today. Or maybe it’s the permanent irritability this place is giving him lately. “This place is fucking poison.”

Joly nods. “Yeah. Welcome to Quarry. Paying a dollar above minimum wage to trick you into thinking you have it good.”

He chuckles, patting Joly on the shoulder as he passes into the closet. “Thanks for always being logical. And on my side.”

“Of course,” he says. “It’s what I do. The fitting room is empty, as you can see. Jenn wants me to help you sort, both of us to do the put-back, then flash fix the softlines areas together.”

“Don’t know how useful I can be today,” Grantaire says, a defeating sigh in the back of his throat.

Joly pats him on the shoulder in return. “Come on. We can add lyrics to our dirty work song, it’ll be merry and hella gay.”

 

Work drags on. Joly and Grantaire work quickly together; their combined inside jokes being shared between each other gives them the energy and adrenaline to move fast and get things done. They finish their task by 10, which leaves four hours until the HR leader gets to Quarry. 

“It’s like," Grantaire starts, having to pause as a guest approaches to get a fitting room stall. “It’s like when you’re dating someone, and they text you at midnight saying ‘we need to talk’ and then they don’t tell you what it’s about, or won’t text you back, and for that night you’re literally about to die at every possible second. Why do people do that?”

Joly makes the universal grunt for “I don’t know” from inside the closet. “Power trip?”

“She already controls every little thing I do in this store, why would she need to spike my anxiety like this?” he says. “That makes no sense.”

“Corporate America makes no sense,” Joly says, appearing at the doorway of the closet with the bin of shoes. “Little people get to fill big roles, get big checks, and get to make the other little people feel even smaller. I don’t know, Taire. I can help you look for jobs later, if you want.”

Grantaire concedes. He nods, throwing the last piece of freshly sorted clothes onto his desk. “Yeah, thank you.”

“You’ve been lobbying Jenn for electronics for months, why don’t you apply at Baker’s Electronics? Hell, why don’t we both apply?”

“They start at like $7.50 an hour, that’s seventy five cents less than I make now,” he says. “I can’t afford a pay cut like that. It’s like you said, Quarry fucking traps you here with a fraction of a better pay grade than everyone else.”

“Apply as a team lead,” he says. “I was looking a few months ago for new jobs. Team leads there start at like $11.50 an hour, and all you need is a year of retail experience.”

“Huh.”

They hear the keys jingling from a distance away, meaning the CTL was probably approaching. Joly takes the shoes and leaves, as Jenn approaches. “Hey, how’s it going back here?”

“Great,” Grantaire says, trying to hide the instant spark of panic in his voice. “Slow, not a lot of stuff.”

“Good,” she says. “Keep it up. Also, Hannah will be in at 1, not 2, so if you want to stop by her office after your lunch, that will be fine.”

“Okay, great,” Grantaire says. 

As Jenn walks away toward electronics, Grantaire turns and walks into the closet. He could probably get the rest of the put back done himself, there’s only about ten items left. 

“Hey.”

The sudden familiar voice behind him makes him jump. He turns and grins sheepishly at the blond in the doorway. “Hey. Need something?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I’m on break, the 70-year-olds are marathoning Mash in the break room. Thought I’d come hang back here.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says. “Groovy.”

His face flushes as Enjolras chuckles at him. He really doesn’t know why he says the weird shit he says around him. “How’s work?”

“Great,” he says. “No one wants to return anything today, it’s awesome.”

“Sounds awesome,” Grantaire says. “Barely anyone wants to try on clothes, either.”

Enjolras nods, a smile half plaguing his face. “So I came back here for a reason, actually. Musichetta, you know her?”

“The lady who yells in Spanish at people who try to coupon scam her?”

Enjolras laughs. “Yeah, her. She’s celebrating her birthday at karaoke tonight. Want to come? It’ll be her, me, Marius, Cosette, Eponine, Chris, I think she’s going to try to catch Bahorel when he comes in to invite him.”

Grantaire pauses. Is Enjolras asking him for Musichetta? Because Grantaire likes her, she’s pretty funny and definitely takes no shit, but they’re not really friends. Why would she want him at her birthday party? Regardless, Grantaire loves work people get togethers. “Yeah, sure. Where and what time?”

“The Lounge,” Enjolras says. “That place across the street from here. She wants to wait until Marius and Eponine are off work, they close tonight, so it’ll be around 10:30 or 11.”

“Am I allowed in a bar after 10?” Grantaire asks. “I’m not 21.”

“The karaoke room is separate from the bar, everyone over 18 is allowed in,” Enjolras says. “I can pick you up if you want.”

“No,” Grantaire says, a little too fast. “No, it’s fine. I live way out of the way, you’ll waste a lot of gas coming to my place.”

Enjolras chuckles again. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll meet you there then.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Grantaire says. 

“Better get back to work.”

Grantaire pretends to work for a few more minutes, until Joly returns to the fitting room. “So you’re dating Enjolras?”

Grantaire spins around in shock, his face flushing once again. “What?!”

“I was at guest services, turning in an empty DVD package I found in shoes. Musichetta was up there with him, talking about her birthday party tonight. She told him he should invite his boyfriend. He rolled his eyes and averted a lot, but came back here on his break. I’m nosy, I listened to the conversation.”

“Joly,” Grantaire says. “I’m flattered that you’d think I’m dating a golden god, but I’m not. I’m not even interested in him, nor is he in me.”

“No, no. Why would you be interested in a, what did you just call him, golden god?”

He rolls his eyes. “He looks like a Greek god. All chiseled jaw and shit.”

“Sure,” Joly says. “We’ll go with that.”

He grabs the rest of the put back out of the closet as Grantaire says, “You're so annoying sometimes.”

“That’s rude,” Joly says as he exits the closet. “I’m annoying all the time. It’s my thing.”

 

 

Grantaire makes sure to take his lunch at 12:30. The half hour for lunch always goes by quickly, and Hannah will be there to talk to him at 1. Even if he is getting fired, which he’s positive is what’s happening, he wants it to happen as quickly as possible.

He eats a microwavable cup of mac and cheese, provided by Jenn in the break room, and watches Mash with the few old people in the room. It’s as relaxed as he’s felt all day. At least he gets one more free meal out of them before they kick him to the curb. Grantaire knows they wait until at least half of someone’s shift is over before they fire someone. They want to get as much as possible out of someone before letting them go. Grantaire thinks he’s slowly coming to peace with this. He’ll find another job, maybe a team lead job at Baker’s. 

At 1:01, he takes a deep breath, then clocks back in. The HR office is right next to the time clock, so he side steps and knocks. Jenn was already in there. “Hi, Grantaire. Come in, close the door.”

He does so, and sits in front of Hannah’s desk. Jenn has a chair pulled up next to her. Hannah is young, barely a couple years older than Taire, and it’s easy to tell this is her first grown up job. She’s all smiles as she says, “Hi, Grantaire! How are you today?”

“Great,” he says, trying to sound calm. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like they care about his feelings. 

“We wanted to talk to you about your job here at Quarry, and your future in the company,” Jenn says.

_Because it’s coming to an end in a few seconds here_ , he finishes in his head. “Okay.”

“I want to preface this saying that you are always on time, you are great with the guests, and your sense of team culture is one of the strongest in the store,” Hannah says. “You’re always quick to backup cashier, or help someone with a spill, or to find an item when they don’t know where it is. It’s great.”

_But, Quarry can’t take you in public without royally fucking up its image, so bitch bye._

“And often times, you’re the only softlines team member to finish their area when you close,” Jenn says. “Your sense of urgency is fantastic."

_Bye Felicia._

"So, we wanted to have this conversation to let you know what steps you need to follow to become a Team Lead in this store.”

His head snaps up, befuddlement on his face. “What?”

“It’s clear to us that you have the potential to bring a lot of positive changes to this store, so, if you’re interested, we want to help you take the next steps,” Jenn says. 

“Uh,” he starts, fumbling with his words. “Wow. I mean yes, I’m interested, but… I thought I was in trouble. For yesterday.”

“Oh, no,” Jenn says. “Enjolras told us what happened, he took full responsibility for that. I mean now we know you can only be paired with a Team Lead when you go to these things, but that was by no means your fault.”

“Oh,” he says. He feels kind of stupid now, but smiles regardless. “Okay. So what do I need to do?”

“We’re going to start giving you more responsibilities,” Jenn says. “Well, not more, but different. We’re definitely going to train you in guest services, all leaders should be trained there. We also want to train you in the back room, how to pull items from the back for guests. If back room is on break, or gone for the night, the leaders need to be able to pull items for guests. You’ll eventually be trained in price change and presentation, but for now, we’ll just stick to the basics.”

“Wow,” he says. “Okay, great.”

“There is a complication, though,” Hannah says. “Typically, Team Leads are highly discouraged from hanging out with team members outside of work.”

He frowns. “Okay. Um, the only friends I have are from here.”

“Right,” she says. “So we’re willing to be lenient on that. We’ll just be paying attention to the news that’s circulating the store, seeing if team members know things before we make official announcements. If you can keep work at work, then there shouldn’t be a problem with that.”

He nods. “Yeah, that won’t be a problem.”

“But we will be holding you to the rule that no Team Leads are allowed to date team members,” Jenn says. 

He nods once more. “Okay, not a problem.”

“We’re not promoting you right now, we don’t have a Team Lead position available yet,” Hannah says. “We can’t give you details, but a Team Lead position will be opening in the next year. We’re developing three team members for the position, and when it opens, we’ll interview you three to see who will get the promotion. But we will be offering all of you a raise in the interim. How does $9 sound?”

“Sounds great,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Great,” Jenn says. “So if you’ll sign this paper, denoting we had this conversation, you understand the terms, and you understand that your raise will come into effect at the beginning of the next pay period, in two weeks.”

He accepts the pen and scribbles his name on the line, very pointedly. “Great.”

“You’ll see the training shifts go up on your schedule in the two week out schedule coming this Friday,” Jenn says. “But basically, for now, just keep doing what you’re doing. Again, you’re great, and we all love you.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you both, really.”

“Do you have any questions for us?”

He only has one. “Can I tell Bahorel?”

They both laugh. Hannah shrugs, and tells him, “You can tell Bahorel that you’re getting cross trained in a few different areas, but keep the whole promotion thing quiet for now. Things change all the time, we can’t have stuff spreading throughout the store that isn’t entirely accurate.”

“Right,” he says. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jenn says. “Now get back to work.”

He smiles at her, then leaves the HR office. What a complete 180 this was in his day. He’s all smiles as he walks out of the front, to the sales floor. He has to pass by guest services on the way back to the fitting room. Enjolras is standing in front of guest services, waiting for a guest who needs to be serviced. He smiles at Grantaire as he passes, and Grantaire returns the gesture. “Hey,” Enjolras says. “Can’t wait til tonight.”

“I can’t either,” Grantaire says. “Thanks for inviting me.”

And then the butterflies return to his stomach, and he remembers both what Joly said, and what Jenn said. Team Leads can’t date team members, meaning as a potential Team Lead, that rule applies to Grantaire. Enjolras has no idea that Grantaire is in line for a promotion. According to an outsider’s perspective, there’s a slight, minor, minute chance that Enjolras’ motive for inviting Taire to karaoke was not just Musichetta telling him to invite him because they’re such good friends. And it’s in this moment that Grantaire realizes that nothing in life will ever be completely fair and okay. Nothing. 

Fuck.


End file.
